


Day 11 - Beelzebub

by Shardinian



Series: Shardinian (Mishka)'s OBEYMEmber! [11]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27485761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shardinian/pseuds/Shardinian
Series: Shardinian (Mishka)'s OBEYMEmber! [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993873
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	Day 11 - Beelzebub

Beelzebub sat behind me in class today. It was odd, actually. He usually copies off Belphie, or hides in the back corner so he can sneak snacks when the teacher isn't looking.

He _never_ sits behind me.

He walked me back to the House, too, which was even odder still. Usually, he heads right back to the cafeteria to hunt for leftovers after class.

He even followed me straight back to my room, trailing at my heels like the sweetest little puppy, smiling and munching on some short of mystery jerky.

*munch munch munch*

When it's clear that he's expecting to follow me right into my bedroom, I finally call him out. “Umm…. Beel?”

“Oh, hi!”

Wait, how the hell can he sound surprised to see me? I've been all but tripping over his giant feet since breakfast.

“Did you know you're following me?”

“Huh? I am?”

*munch munch munch*

“Yes! All day!”

“Weird.”

*munch munch munch*

I stare at him.

He stares at me.

When the silence drags on long enough to get uncomfortable, he frowns, and holds up a half-eaten mystery meat stick. “Do you want a bite?”

“WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?!”

“You smell like cookies.”

…

Ok, so, no more vanilla scented deodorant in the Devildom. Got it. Somebody write that down.

“I guess… yeah, maybe you're right? But you know I'm not actually edible, right? Please tell me you know that,” I frown, whilst taking a half-step back for good measure.

“Yup.”

*munch munch munch*

“So… are you gonna stop following me, then?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?!”

“Because you smell like cookies.”

If I wasn't so worried about knocking myself senseless, I'd slam my head off the doorjamb. “Right. Fine, I get it. But I have stuff to do, Beel. What if I don't invite you in?”

“That's ok. I can wait out here.”

“Ugh. No, nevermind.” Somehow, the idea of him camping outside my door like he was waiting for the next iPhone release seems like it would be more distracting than just having him follow me around. “Come in, then.”

“Yay,” he beams, sounding somehow deadpan and overjoyed at the same time, as he follows me inside. “So what are we doing?”

“ _I_ have homework to do. _You_ can do whatever you want – except eat me, of course.”

“Ok.”

I sit at my desk, open my Fundamentals of Elemental Magic textbook to chapter 19, and start reading over the assignment.

…

……

*munch munch munch*

It's a little hard to concentrate when there's a ginormous shadow hovering right above my head.

“Beel. Could you maybe pull up a chair, or something? You're getting crumbs all over my… wait, how are you getting crumbs all over anything? Weren't you eating jerky?” I twist around to look at him upside-down, and am immediately rewarded with a face-full of not-jerky crumbs. “Is that a cupcake?! Where on earth did you find a damn cupcake?”

“In my pocket,” he beams. “Pocket pastry. I have nine more.”

“You don't even have nine pockets! How the hell are you carrying around nine more cupcakes?”

“Magic pants.”

“…you have… magic pants.”

…is this what an aneurysm feels like?

“Yup. Satan helped me make them. They hold everything.”

“You have pants with unlimited pocket space, and you use them to hold cupcakes?”

“And jerky.”

That would sound more ridiculous, I suppose, if we all weren't carrying phones that had unlimited storage space, and were filled with nothing but cat memes and porn.

As swamped and stressed as I am (midterms are just two weeks away, and insofar as my magic is concerned, I couldn't freeze water in a snowstorm), his sparkling eyes and pure, innocent smile are finally enough to make me smile. “You're adorable, Beel.”

He blushes shyly and stuffs another flattened cupcake into his mouth, presumably so he doesn't have to answer me.

“I'm not gonna be able to get my work done while you're hovering, though, and so long as I still smell like cookies, you're not gonna stop hovering. Is that about right?”

Somehow smiling even with his cheeks stuffed full like an over-eager hamster, he nods. “Mmf Hmmf!”

“Alright, then. Come on. I know how to fix this.”

He follows obediently at heel, making a polite point of shortening his massive stride to match my shorter one, all the way to the bath.

He leaves a trail of cupcake crumbs, too, which will come in handy if I somehow get lost in Narnia on the way back to my room.

I start running my bath, then glance over my shoulder and frown. “Umm… this is _my_ bath, Beel,” I patiently explain, as he slips off his shirt and starts working on his magic pants. “I know a little privacy is too much to expect right now, but we both won't fit in one tub.”

(My brain thought that. My mouth said it. My eyes, apparently, didn't get the memo, because I can't stop staring at his washboard stomach like a drooling teenager.)

“We'll fit,” he smiles. “Watch.”

Utterly unashamed, he keeps right on undressing, until I have to force myself to look away for decency's sake. (One of the hardest things I've ever had to do, let me tell you.) I wait until I hear the tell-tale rippling of water that tells me he's sat himself down, then sigh, and finish undressing myself.

“Now where do you expect me to fit, exactly?”

“Right here.”

His invitation is platonic and completely genuine, but still makes me smirk. “Beel, no. We both know that if I sit on your lap, I'm not getting any work done tonight. Scooch over. I'll squeeze in beside you.”

He does, and I do, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders so we both fit. I snuggle up against his chest, do my best to ignore the fact that there is a rapidly growing number of cupcake floaties in my nice, clean bath water, and find the soap. “Ok, hun. This should do the trick.”

“Want some help?”

“Hehehe. No, thank you. For the same reason I'm not sitting in your lap,” I smirk, as I take my time to thoroughly wash away every last iota of vanilla. When I'm pretty sure I've gotten the last of it, I defer to the olfactory expert. “There. Do I still smell like cookies?”

He swallows his mouthful (which was very considerate of him) before burying his nose in my hair and breathing deeply. “Nope.”

“Good! So you'll stop following me around, then?”

“Nope.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“Because now you smell like you,” he sighs, as he pulls me into his warm, safe arms and kisses the back of my neck, “and I like that even better than cookies.”


End file.
